Before I write up the quick post I brainstormed on my walk over here, I want to comment that this is one of the sadder things I've seen in the news recently. I know it's not proportional, but I didn't know the four boy scouts or half-million Burmese. I mean, I didn't know Tim Russert either, but he still had a small place in my heart.
These are some of my favorite moments:
Walking on the street, I pass a Mexican guide with gawking tourists in tow.
Tour guide: "Up that way is a McDonald's..."
Me (interrupting: "It's actually a Burger King."
Tour guide: "Are you sure?"
Me: "Yes."
Me: "Hi, we ordered a pizza that was supposed to be delivered an hour ago, and we're still waiting."
Pizza Hut: "We tried to deliver it, but that address doesn't exist."
Me: "Yes it does."
Pizza Hut: "Our guy went all over. The house numbers start at 100. There's no house 3."
Me: "I live there."
I love feeling like a native.
Epilogue: An hour and a half later, the Pizza Hut guy met me on the street a block from my house with the pizzas. I showed him where my house was, and he showed me the slip where the address had been printed wrong. Since my host mom ordered, I highly doubt she gave the wrong address, and they do confirm with the phone number, which I know from past experience gives them the right address in their database. I think they forge this stuff to avoid admitting a mistake, and sure enough, I had to pay for the pizza.
1 comment:
your reassurance finally inspired me to write honestly, which hasn't happened so much lately. thanks for being my muse, love!
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